


the ghost

by cowboyflesh (cowboymeat), lambchops (lambmeat)



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Gender Play, Johnny is sweet for once in his life, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Male V (Cyberpunk 2077), verbal feminization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28650162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboymeat/pseuds/cowboyflesh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambmeat/pseuds/lambchops
Summary: “There’s my girl,” Johnny purrs, holding his hand steady as V rolls his hips into it.V doesn’t bite at him to be quiet. The little name hits him at his core in just the right way— gentle, encouraging. A different role, giving him a little escape from being V, a legend of the Afterlife and the man to call for any gig.An unusually gentle hand comes to hold V’s cheek, thumb running over the sandpaper-grain of the man’s stubble. Even more odd is the way V leans into it, whereas before, he’d have pulled away like it burned just because Johnny would never do something so sweet.“How about you come up here. Sit on my face. Good girls get to ride my tongue.”
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Male V
Comments: 9
Kudos: 110





	the ghost

**Author's Note:**

> cw: words cunt, folds, cock, hole, pussy (once, dialogue) used for V
> 
> disclaimer: both authors of this fic are transmen. the gender play (where johnny refers to V as girl/his girl/girlfriend) is a consensual headspace, recognized as such, and isn't intended to induce dysphoria or be cruel.

It wasn’t what V needed, not now. He isn’t sure what he needed exactly, but with the stain of uncovering a snuff BD ring devoted to making children their stars lacquered over his conscious, he knows that Johnny’s typical style of angry fucking wasn’t going to help overturn the upset roiling inside his stomach.

He doesn’t even understand how Johnny can be as keen on sex as he is, considering he was present and quietly watching through V’s eyes the entire time he searched the facility. But it’s not surprising— to get the rockerboy to think of anything other than fucking V’s brains loose would be to just piss him off into receding to the back of V’s consciousness like a sulking teenager.

The attention is a much-appreciated distraction that he isn’t going to shove away, not when Johnny shoves him against the wall with that wry grin V hates to love so much. He just can’t find himself rising to the typical taunts and filthy comments when he’s still snagged on the sight of hundreds of BD’s featuring unfortunate no-body kids from Heywood that could’ve very easily been him just years ago.

Very easily, someone could’ve nabbed him from the streets, and there would have been no one sent looking for him. Heywood gonks don’t get the pity of the police when it’s just blood money and prayers to offer.

“Quit fucking thinking,” Johnny finally spits, taking a moment from where he’s teething along V’s throat like he was about to sink his teeth in and drain him. While his cheeks are flushed with color and he’s grabbing at Johnny’s vest like a lifeline, his head clearly isn’t in the game and the mutual link between their thoughts doesn’t hide anything of what he’s thinking from the other man.

V only levels him with a glare, looking just as pleased as Johnny is. 

“Sorry, sex doesn’t solve all my problems like they do yours,” V says sardonically, although his still-firm grip on Johnny says all it needs to. The rockerboy only scoffs, nosing back beneath his jaw, this time a touch softer than before.

“Just focus on me, kid.”

The sudden flip in attitude makes V blink in surprise. He was half expecting some sort of argument to bubble up and boil the air between them as how most their nights build up. It’s like someone turned the heat off, and Johnny doesn’t seem all too keen on pushing his limits when V is standing with a foot in his apartment and a foot in the old barn.

Then Johnny is gently leaning into him, coaxing V’s legs to split open and allow him to slot his thigh between them. Something grounding, something concrete he can focus on. The hands that were once bruisingly-gripping his hips slacken until they’re an anchor, keeping V tethered on the present.

An almost-awkward laugh bubbles out of V’s throat as Johnny suckles on his pulse point without all the teeth and heat and  _ anger _ he’s used to. It causes Johnny to pause, confused as he sees V pointedly glancing away from his eyes.

“You don’t gotta get all soft for me,” V says, deflecting.

“Christ, just fucking shut up,” Johnny puffs as he continues to almost tenderly mouth at the column of his throat with wet kisses. His thigh hitches higher, forcing V to swallow his words. Johnny’s hands coax his hips into moving against his thigh, distracting him with the friction possible through two pairs of jeans.

Johnny’s mouth trails down to his collarbones, nipping at them and sweeping his hands beneath V’s shirt. It’s always been a bit upsetting to find no trace of him and Johnny’s near-nightly romps on him when he checks the mirror the morning after. 

As much as V snaps back and chomps at the bit for what he wants, any dissent seems to die on his tongue as Johnny’s hands commit V’s shape to memory. Slightly odd and sometimes depersonalizing if he tries too hard to recall that sensation for himself—a symptom of their impending oneness—in the moment, the repetitive motion of Silverhand’s exploratory touches is soothing. He subconsciously leans into them, which isn’t lost on the rockstar. 

“There he is,” Johnny says all-too-softly. Uncharacteristic of him. In his own sifting through what memories of Johnny’s he could decipher, never once was he so gentle with a lover as he is now with V. Not even Rogue, and especially not with Alt. 

In the BD-level intensity of recollection offered by their shared psyche, V could  _ feel _ the conflicting emotion throbbing through Johnny’s veins as he took his frustrations out on any willing output. Just as if they were his own. Could feel the choking smog of self-loathing fill out his body as he chased away those emotions by abusing every commodity he could get his hands on, whether it be the latest street drug or any scrap of affection partner or joytoy alike would toss him. 

In Johnny’s treatment of V, sex is not a necessity to pull his mind away from those lingering thoughts, nor an attempt to satisfy his baser needs. It’s an experience, an intimacy meant to be treasured rather than regretted. At least when he’s attempting a softer approach, rather than fucking V like a dog in rut desperate to get both of their rocks off.

Of course, none of the fluffy bullshit would ever pass Johnny’s lips, but he’s incapable of hiding the nebulous sentiment from their doomed symbiosis. It floats easily to V as industrial flotsam washes upon the shores of Night City. 

“Told you to stop thinking,” Johnny reminds him. There’s a false tone of irritation in his voice, distinct from the notes it takes on when he’s truly aggravated. “Unless it’s about me.”

“Narcissist,” V returns with no venom. Johnny’s roundabout softness erodes his defenses as carbonation does enamel. 

“Mhm, ‘s why you keep me around, right?”

“Not like I got a choice, Johnny.”

Another uninterested-sounding grunt from Silverhand before his hand slips up to absently toy with V’s nipple. As casual as it is on Johnny’s part, the smaller man’s body arches beneath the touch. 

“You sound better when you’re not thinkin’.”

“Then stop me,” V breathes, the rebuttal passing through his teeth more sultry than he intended, even for their current circumstance. It makes the rockerboy huff a laugh against the column of V’s throat before pressing another open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin. 

For once, there’s nothing on Johnny’s tongue; no taunt, no comment, nothing. He simply mouths at the younger’s collarbones and tugs at the shirt until he reaches compliance. The old band shirt slips easily from V’s lithe frame, and Johnny’s hands settle firmly on the subtle swell of his hips. Easy enough to hide, but bared for Johnny to drink in, he can’t get enough of him in his entirety.

Petting rather than rocking, he lets V pick his own pace. He’s in no rush, not when V is toeing such a fine line between shutting down and biting his head off if put under too much strain. Only offering a source of warmth and nonlethal human contact, he simply lets the mercenary drink from the deep pools of intimacy he has to offer. While sheltered, kept superficial with warnings of toxicity and danger in his depths, he finds he can let V wade into him more than waist-depth if it means he’ll find comfort in their own mutual danger.

He tries not to fixate on what that means, the gradual shift of his views on true tenderness and intimate trust. Every passing day they grow closer to becoming a single cell, but while disturbing, offers a sense of security. Being perfectly understood, tolerated, maybe even welcomed. V certainly seems to be warming up to his frigid waters no matter how many times he’s been bitten by things he can’t see in the murkiness, how many times he’s almost drowned because of Johnny.

“No thinking,” V softly reiterates, and Johnny doesn’t know if he’s speaking for himself or trying to tug the rocker’s attention back to him.

“Yeah,” Johnny says lamely, nosing under his jaw again. It makes V relax just so, shoulders dropping as he returns the gentle contact. He blinks, and the tactical vest is gone, allowing him the liberty of warm skin and soft muscle. A slow dance of give and take, where they step into each other’s insecurities and pull each other out of it. Struggling to find their own tempos in each other’s music. 

Johnny lets his head drop until his ear is pressed against V’s pulse point, listening to the sound of life thrumming through him, his own unique tempo. The bite of nails distracts him for a moment as V encourages Johnny to work with him, roll his hips against V’s, and add to the routine rather than just being an idle partner.

Rather than give in, Johnny takes a half-step back, removing himself from V’s warmth for just a moment to lead the other with him as he edged towards the bed. When he reaches it, the backs of his knees giving as he settles on the mattress, V looks uncertain, as if he doesn’t know what he should do if he isn’t completely under Johnny.

“C’mere,” Johnny coaxes, guiding him by his hips until those sculpted thighs are bracketing his own and V’s weight is firmly settled on his lap.

V huffs a dry chuckle at Johnny’s tempered eagerness. It’s alien—the rockerboy has a tendency to take as he sees fit, without regard to the consequences to himself or those around him—but here he sits, letting V set the tempo rather than blindly following his carnal urges. He can only do so much to mitigate his body’s automatic reactions, as the stiffening bulge in those stupid pleather pants makes plain, but the relinquishing of control to his partner is character growth in and of itself. 

Johnny slides his hands up V’s thighs. Through the mirrored reflection of his sunglasses, he could almost pick up a sense of  _ reverence _ . Almost. Even through the guise of patience, V is still able to glean a hint of hunger welling up inside of the other man. It doesn’t interfere with his newfound gentle demeanor at all, but tugs at the back of V’s brain. Melds into his own mounting excitement. 

“Relax, V,” Johnny calls out where the tension sits in the mercenary's shoulders, pulling them taught as a string instrument. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Can’t you just  _ feel _ what I want?”

“Can we just be a normal couple for once?”

“We’re— a couple?”

A smirk tugs at Silverhand’s lips. “’Course, V. What else could we be?”

“Thought I was just your output.”

“If you were just my output, I’d only show up for sex.”

All V can do is stare blankly at the construct beneath him as he processes the deeper implications, most notably—that Johnny  _ does _ consider him more than an output. It earns him a relatively gentle open-handed slap to the thigh. 

“Pretty girls don’t need to think.”

“Shut up,” V retorts without teeth behind it. Johnny easily catches on to the effect the single epithet has on V, both mentally and physically in the way the host squirms atop him.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Johnny coos, leaning in and whispering against V’s lips. There’s still that hint of self-satisfaction and ego carried in the rolling growl of his speaking voice, as permanent as blood staining the purest silk, but it doesn’t dampen the oddly powerful sincerity of his pet name. It practically makes the other man melt, the tension easing from his muscles as he hungrily chases the rocker’s mouth.

The tenderness— it’s foreign. More so than anything he’s ever felt. Even the feeling of the engram first disrupting his reality didn’t feel as jarring as the sudden switch from angry lust to compassion. 

Rather than using his voice, never finding himself as fluent and skilled in the art of sweet words, V grabs Johnny’s wrist and pulls his warm palm to the hem of his shorts, trying not to think of what he’s doing and fumble as he surges forward with open kisses. It was more a distraction for himself, trying not to overanalyze what he’s doing or let residual frustration or prudish embarrassment mar the moment.

Johnny grins against his mouth before nipping at his bottom lip as cool metal fingers pull at the elastic waistband of his shorts. They’re a raggedy pair, seemingly fashioned out of old leggings that outlived their purpose, but Johnny’s not going to complain with how they hug V’s body just right, with a short length and a high waist framing his assets deliciously.

They’re pulled down with some help from V, lifting his hips as the elastic stubbornly clings to his generous thighs. Just enough for Johnny to get his hands where V wants him most. 

V falters against his lips as Johnny finds his cock straining against his briefs, the ghost of contact gracing over his sensitive heat. Arching his hips forward, V affirms the contact with a relieved sigh dying against Johnny’s mouth.

“There’s my girl,” Johnny purrs, holding his hand steady as V rolls his hips into it. Too focused on using the rocker’s fingers to stroke his cock through his underwear, V doesn’t bite at him to be quiet. Truthfully, the little name hits him at his core in just the right way— gentle, encouraging. A different role, giving him a little escape from being V, a legend of the Afterlife and the man to call for any gig. 

There’s no gut-wrenching pang of discomfort or dysphoria he almost wished he felt when the name first rattled off Johnny’s tongue. It felt like a hand held out to him for him to take, whisk him away to a fleetingly different reality where he’s just Johnny’s girl— fuck, he’d even take  _ girlfriend. _

The quiet thought drifts through his head as gentle as a lone cloud offering a moment of peaceful shade before carrying over to Johnny. The rocker hums and moves back to kiss the stubble of V’s cheek, then jaw. 

“Need more,” V says softly, trying to hide his words in Johnny’s hair as he nuzzles the other. Voice laved over with arousal and something new, something both distinctly V and not, his words make Johnny’s ears prick. Just a touch higher, sweet.

The pretty pet names and perhaps exuberant sweetness on Johnny’s part were a gamble that seems to have paid off. He’s rewarded with V content to sink into this novel headspace, finding an escape from his tumultuous reality in this new position. Johnny is more than happy to indulge, seeing as he reaps a fair share of that comfortably empty-headed bliss thanks to their link and because he was the one to inspire it.

An unusually gentle hand comes to hold V’s cheek, thumb running over the sandpaper-grain of the man’s stubble. Even more odd is the way V leans into it, whereas before, he’d have pulled away like it burned just because Johnny would never do something so  _ sweet _ . It would have been mocking or manipulative or  _ something _ to put the ball in Silverhand’s court, rather than to share a moment. 

“How about you come up here,” Johnny suggests, sliding his aviators off and casting them aside. “Sit on my face. Good girls get to ride my tongue.”

The back-of-the-throat growl of Johnny’s words goes straight to his cock. False leather of the rockerboy’s pants creaks beneath V as he involuntarily grinds down against the accentuated hard-on. As much as he hated the tacky pants, they do wonders to emphasize his endowment. 

Obediently, V shifts until his thighs frame Johnny’s head. 

An involuntary groan as the angle of Johnny’s nose provides just the barest scrap of friction to V’s over-aroused heat. It’s plenty reward to Johnny, who first frees V from his briefs before eagerly dipping his tongue into the slick pooling between V’s legs, hungry for more of the beautiful noises already falling from the other man’s lips. 

V’s muscles strain with the effort involved in avoiding loss of control and collapsing onto Silverhand, but Johnny easily does away with the hesitance to fully commit himself to the act. He hooks his arms over V’s thighs, just below his waist, and pulls him downwards into the stimulation. Immediately, the agonizingly slow, broad stripes he plants along V’s folds net him a breathy groan, increasing in volume as his tongue instead circles around his cock. 

Even with all his boasting about his experience with oral, V could never predict that he’d have a front-row seat to the show. And he never realized it was more than just hot air; Silverhand really keeps true to his word. His toes curl as excruciating pleasure ripples up his thighs, accentuated by the scrape of Johnny’s beard against the tender insides of his thighs. 

“Stop— f-fuck,” V finally manages, though he continues to grind himself against the wet heat of Johnny’s tongue and lips. Johnny is keenly aware that stopping is the  _ last _ thing that V wants right now, considering the iron grip of his legs on either side of his head. Stopping now would just be cruel. 

Drawing his tongue through his folds, teasing his hole and easily finding his sensitive cock, Johnny circles the tip before enveloping the length in his mouth. Suckling gently, not keen on having his partner keel over from the extreme stimulation, he works him in his mouth diligently. It throbs faintly against his tongue, and he can feel the excited slick slipping from V and onto his chin as the younger flinches and groans with his entire chest.

A hand finds itself twisted in Johnny’s messy mane, then two as V doubles over with a weak noise. His tentative grinding turns to desperate rutting as the rockerboy rolls his tongue under his cock and allows his mouth to be used if it means V keeps singing his praise to high heaven.

“’S too much, I—” V starts before he’s rudely cut off with a sharp gasp. Johnny’s hand has drifted, searching digits finding his mess of a hole and testingly dipping into his heat. Shifting to arch his back and bare himself, V moans open and ragged as he tries to both roll his hips forward against the sinfully skilled tongue and back onto those teasing fingers.

Silverhand doesn’t make V decide between the two. He pushes his fingers in to his knuckles and massages that spot that makes V see stars behind his eyes. The response is immediate; a sharp cry escapes the mercenary as he’s caught between two different world-rending ends. Not for a moment does Johnny stop sucking him off, and his fingers only pick up speed until he’s all but fucking V forward into his mouth.

A mantra of swears interspersed between desperate gasps of Johnny’s name precedes an almost violent shaking as V is pushed under the waves of his peak like a diver caught in a storm. Then Johnny feels an excess of slick trickle down his wrist as V tightens around his fingers, catching him deep as he strokes the younger through his orgasm. It’s enough to wet his throat and even soak into the collar of his tank top. The realization of what just happened makes the rocker pull his head from the slowly-weakening grip of V’s thighs to grin at him, beyond proud of himself.

V barely has the strength to pull himself upright. Johnny retracts his hand and takes away V’s spine with it, the younger just managing to shimmy and settle on the older’s chest. Without breaking eye contact, Johnny brings the hand to his face and trails his tongue up his wrist, catching the rivulets of slick that try to roll down his forearm.

“Such a messy girl,” Johnny says, voice a rumbling whisper as he watches the other’s eyes fixate on the glint of wet coating his hand. His implant squeezes V’s hip before guiding him to settle lower until the mercenary is laying on his chest. “Gonna clean up after yourself?” Johnny purrs, seeing the temptation swirling in V’s eyes like deep whirlpools of insatiable hunger.

V does so unthinkingly, leaning forward to wrap his lips around Johnny’s slickened fingers. His tongue is exploratory as he suckles at the digits, lightly bobbing his head as though he were returning the favor for Johnny. And, in a way, he was; each lave of the tongue sends shockwaves of arousal to Silverhand’s cock. V works his own sighs from Johnny. 

“Not fair how good you look like this,” Johnny coos. 

“More,” V insists. His eyes are glazed over, though there’s undoubtedly still presence behind them. He’s merely lost to the headspace, devoted to being Johnny’s  _ girl _ . 

“Getting bossy now,” Silverhand responds. He pushes his fingers deeper into V’s mouth until his knuckles are resting on the precipice of his lips. Knows how to control his gag reflex. 

A line of spit still connects his lips to Johnny’s fingers as he pulls away, satisfied with the taste of his own cum dancing on his tongue. He looks a wreck, cheeks steeped a cherry red and chin slathered with his own drool and slick. One for the ages. 

“Good thing we’re not done yet, V. Still got the best part.” Always with the ego—although, so far, nothing has been to the contrary yet. He knows what he’s got, and he’s happy to show V all the intimate details. “On your stomach. Now.”

Breath hitches in his throat and is punched out of him as he falls to the mattress obediently, thighs still shaking from the last orgasm Johnny worked from him. V’s unable to gather a coherent thought. He doesn’t notice as Johnny’s weight disappears from the bed until it reappears between his thighs and there’s a firm weight resting against his ass. 

Throwing his head over his shoulder, V all but whines as he takes in Silverhand’s nude form. All sharp angles and muscle and bone, not to mention the impressive length he’s sporting where it rests against his own overheated skin—the stereotypical image of a rockerboy. 

“Somethin’ tells me my baby girl wants it, bad.”

“Want it,” V agrees, weakly pushing his ass back against the cock amply leaking precum onto him. “Give it to me.”

“Huh, home run on the first date,” Johnny muses aloud. Perhaps there’d be a more biting comment attached were V in another headspace, but for now he neither knows nor cares, especially as Johnny’s cybernetic comes down to aid in his initial thrust. In an instant, he’s borderline-overwhelmingly full, split on the rockstar’s cock. 

“Fu-uck. ’S been too long,” he mutters. Already, Johnny’s eyes are wrenched shut, certain that he’d cum too soon if he gave a proper look at the blurring of their boundaries. Fully seated, he allows V a few seconds to acclimate to the intrusion before pulling out to the tip and pressing in again. “Needed to get myself a girlfriend. Picked good.”

His walls shift around Johnny’s cock deliciously, welcoming him in with each and every movement. At first, V is rendered mute in astonishment, mouth agape, and back arched. It’s sinfully beautiful, the way V’s toes curl and his eyes roll. And the expression dissolves as he buries his face against the mattress where Johnny had previously been, still scented with the ghost of the rockerboy’s cologne. 

“Take it like a pro, V.”

The crude compliment plucks a discordant note from the younger, muted by the sheets. With each long stroke hitting almost too deep, it’s impossible to restrain the embarrassing whimpers and whines, even if he were cognizant enough to feel shame.

“John-ny,” V whines, nearly intelligible with his face pressed into the covers, “please—“

“Speak up, princess,” Johnny croons, “can’t hear what you want.” He leans over V’s back, his hair falling down to tickle his shoulder where he’s braced by his head, his implant keeping the younger’s hips down in a bruising grip. He’s pacing himself, trying to hold his own end at bay, but V’s perfect cunt milks him so beautifully and he moans so prettily. 

Barely managing to find any strength left in him, V lifts his head up and almost affectionately nuzzles at Johnny as best he can. It strikes an odd cord in Johnny’s chest, different from his typical melody of intimacy, however not disruptive or truly offbeat. He must've done something horribly wrong to V as he coos soft notes of fucked-out happiness and tries his hardest to rub cheeks like a kitten. That, or there’s something wrong with  _ him _ — his coded heart somehow fluttering in his chest like a frenzied bird.

Whatever V wanted to plead is lost on his tongue as Johnny holds him there with his hand migrating to his throat. It traps him in a nigh painful arch, although no complaint arises. Instead, he gets a squeak of true groan, stuck in his throat and forced out with a particularly harsh buck of Johnny’s hips. 

“You make the prettiest noises when I use your pussy,” Johnny almost snarls, finding himself settling into the rough rhythm to pluck V’s strings and make him sing. 

“Yours—“ V ekes out, eyes rolling into the back of his head. It’s an automatic response, more of a parrot than anything, but it strikes a match of burning possession in the rockerboy. His grip on V’s throat tightens just enough to make V grin stupidly, his cheeks tinting darker. 

“That’s right, baby.  _ Mine,”  _ Silverhand rasps. “Gonna ruin your cunt, make sure you remember who you belong to.”

A borderline wail as V thrusts himself back against each move of Johnny’s hips, nails scrambling for purchase against the defiled sheets beneath them. It’s music to Johnny’s ears and only brings his own ending tantalizingly close. 

“You like when your neighbors hear, huh?” Johnny taunts lightheartedly and is answered immediately by another noise pouring forth from V’s lips. He’d be lucky  _ not _ to get a noise complaint filed against him when all’s said and done, considering the symphony of moans and hips slapping against the backs of thighs that thoroughly fills out the small square footage of the apartment. 

For someone who’s dead for all intents and purposes, he sure doesn’t hold back on the noise. Maybe he’s gone deaf from infrastructure-damagingly loud shows night after night, but V can’t muster up the brainpower to care at the moment. Not when Johnny’s all but splitting him in two in his fervidity. 

“Fuck, J— _ ah _ —”

“Ready for it, V?”

He doesn’t get an answer until he’s spilling into the younger man, hips still stuttering as V’s cunt milks him dry—at which point, V’s eyes have snapped open in ecstasy and a gasp pulls his chest taut. He’s caught in a silent moan as the rockerboy finally stills, still buried deep in his guts. 

Johnny hangs his head, unmoving from his position over top his partner. For the first time since V’s own death and subsequent resurrection, both of their heads are quiet. A blank space in which the only thing that matters to each of them is the other half to their cohesive whole. Warmth and skin and contact are the only things that matter to them—no difficult decisions, no hardships or trauma. 

“You okay?” Johnny asks after several minutes, breaking the silence only otherwise filled by the hum of electronics that fills the apartment. “Didn’t break you, did I?”

Humming a negative, V slowly slips himself from the grip around his throat until Johnny’s cradling his cheek in his palm. He breathes deeply, the soft sound of contentment and happy nothingness inside his skull like a silent screensaver. That one thought bouncing off the corners and walls of his brain is simply that he’s comfortable, even with his chest tacky with drool and the space between a mess of drying cum.

Johnny grins softly to himself and, truly without thinking, leans down and kisses the crown of V’s head. It makes the younger tilt his chin up to peer at the rockerboy, eyes full of hearts and wonder at the minuscule gesture. The barest minimum of intimacy— a chaste peck— but louder than the entire city inside the small apartment.

“Think I did,” Johnny muses. He simply gazes down at V, thumb idling stroking his still-blushed cheek, as they settle together as one. He doesn’t feel the slightest bit bothered to move an inch, seeing as V has a mean streak of making even the clingiest groupies run for their money. 

While he doesn’t verbalize it, V certainly exhibits his bone-deep desire for softer moments every chance he gets, although he’s often only capable of capturing Johnny after a particularly violent round of sex. Being permitted his need for that saccharine love and shown that Johnny will be tender with him without the need to be hurt for it makes him greedy; trapping Johnny in place with those darling ocean-green eyes and quiet noises calling him to stay.

And Johnny won’t ever be caught twice-dead saying that he loves it just as much. Loves the way V grows pliant and tired in the wake of adrenaline and pheromones, the way all those hard lines smooth out around those thoughtful eyes, and the way he stubbornly tries to act like he doesn’t want to be held, all while basically wedging himself into Johnny’s arms. 

The emotion tastes foreign on his tongue, making Johnny settle his jaw and sigh inwardly at himself for his own aloofness. Sweet and warm like a pastry pulled from the oven, and melting over his taste buds like a glaze of sugar. It sticks to the roof of his mouth and makes it hard to swallow, but he’s addicted to it, to V choking him of his typical abrasive ways and ruining his palette for everyone else. He doesn’t think he’ll ever wash V from his mouth because he doesn’t think he’ll find anything sweeter, more packed full of hard work and love, than the moments where they’re quiet and comfortable in the security of each other.

The glaze over his eyes that obscures V’s clarity clears away, and he blinks at Johnny with now honest surprise.

“Johnny?” he peeps. The thoughts have drifted like the smell of a bakery through an open window. It’s impossible to hide it, especially from someone sharing the same neural living space as him. The only thing he can do is offer him what’s been slowly cooking inside his chest, heating him from the foundations of his coding and leaving him warmer and more satiated than anything he can care to recall.

“Yeah?”

“Thinking?” V questions, already plainly aware of the nature of Johnny’s thoughts. He just lacks specifics. He blinks and a cigarette is perched between the older’s fingers, sidestream winding up into the air. 

“Yeah. About us,” Johnny says. Immediately, he can sense the apprehension rising to a boil in V’s mind, and he combats it by combing his fingers through the other’s close-cropped hair. “Not in a bad way. Thought you could tell that much.”

V turns those too-sweet eyes upon his face again, and the instinct to lurch away from the gaze is all-too-strong. He remains steadfast, though, offering V the openness he craves. 

“You’re just a good influence, is all.”

“Did I break  _ you _ ?”

A lighthearted chuckle from Johnny, and a pause as he takes a deep drag from his cigarette. He shrugs and speaks on the exhale. “It’s just the truth. Don’t know if it’s real or the relic hasn’t...overwritten that part of you, but...”

He trails. Part of himself is kicking him for ruining the mood, and another part is rearing away from the thought of being willingly vulnerable towards V. It’s one thing to be mandatorily exposed to his headmate, but another thing entirely to acknowledge it. 

“Want to talk about it?” V asks genuinely. He gestures for the cigarette in Johnny’s hand, and he brings it down to his mouth in order for V to take a drag himself. 

“I mean. I’m just not used to it. I’m used to drug-fuelled one-night-stands, not consistent sex with someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“Someone that cares.”

“Alt cared for you.”

“I don’t want to talk about her. I’m— I think I love you, V?” 

Phrased as a question. It’s alien to Johnny, something he’d never said sober since he was all of nine years old, and always something he regretted saying while inebriated. Here, it’s different. There’s no true bone-deep hesitance, merely a reluctance to voice what Johnny knows to be true. He doesn’t need to be drunk to blurt it out. 

The moment between the utterance of his words and V’s reply is agonizing. Johnny can feel the pseudo-pulse from his automated heart roaring in his ears. Only in V’s company can he shed the armor of indifference and (begrudgingly) welcome in the wondrous horror of unbridled intimacy. It’s the tectonic shift from ambiguity to being known. 

“I love you too, Johnny.”

The anxiety wiring his muscles dissipates and he sags in relief over V, sighing. It makes the younger quirk a brow at him, and Johnny simply shakes his head with the start of a smile creeping onto his features.

“Thought you were gonna leave me out to dry for a second there.”

“No, I was just…” V starts and trails off with a shrug as though he were chewing thoughtfully on the smoke in his mouth. “I was surprised. I, uh…”

“I don’t get how people can talk about this like it’s the news,” Johnny gripes lightheartedly as he sits up with the cigarette in V’s care.

“Feels more like a crime report,” V huffs, wincing as Johnny slowly pulls out, hands gentle on his hips as he untangles their bodies and stands. He’s content to lay there, dragging from Johnny’s cigarette as the other milled about around in the background. He’s long since demonstrated that he’s more than capable of staying the night rather than pulling a cum-and-go.

“Roll,” Johnny tells him, even as he manhandles the younger and flips him over himself. Now on his back, he sees that Johnny still hasn’t adorned his shades. His eyes are softened, not because of exhaustion seeing as that isn’t something he can necessarily feel anymore, but more with the gentle wave of thoughts running through his head like a creak stream. Unobtrusive, quiet.

A warm, wet rag runs between his legs with as much care as though he were caring for a newborn fawn. Motions slow as he’s thinking, sweeps mindful as he clears their combined mess.

“I didn’t know if you felt the same way,” V murmurs, causing Johnny to still and look at him. For all the compliments he gets for his eyes, he feels as though it is a crime that the world only got to see a rockstar with shades and a shit-eating grin. 

Truly gentle with near-black eyes and a marked softness about them, V feels his heart twist because now it’s reserved for him and only him.

At once, Johnny materializes across the room to toss the towel in a pile of unwashed laundry before coming back with a knee on the bed, gesturing for him to shift. He does so, wriggling until he’s properly situated in the bed with the covers drawn over him and held in invitation. The odd warmth of Johnny’s skin against his is a comfort, like a laptop in his lap or the touch of a TV running for too long.

“ _ I  _ didn’t know you felt the same, either. Considering every time I thought I felt a little bit of warmth in that cold heart of yours, you’d just get mad at me,” Johnny huffs, laughing through his nose. He easily wraps an arm around the younger’s shoulders, tugging him close. It’s commonplace now, cuddling. Although Johnny was quite reluctant the first few times, now it’s almost instinct for him to lift his arm and wait for the smaller body to tuck into his side.

“Didn’t know what else to do. Didn’t know how you’d react,” V mumbles against Johnny’s chest, pressing his cheek against his pec. His finger idly traces the large scar running diagonally across his abdomen.

Then he feels lips against his temple, and he lifts his head.

“For a merc that likes to sprint at armored Arasaka mech suits with only your mantis blades and rage, you really are a pussy.”

**Author's Note:**

> [lambchop's twitter](https://twitter.com/commanderbait)   
>  [cowboyflesh’s twitter](https://twitter.com/silverdynes)
> 
> SONG FROM TITLE: https://open.spotify.com/track/7m523YFWB8812Qwx6VOjVD


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